


The Reinking Affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Gen, Murder, Mystery, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14570268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Illya Kuryakin has been recently reassigned to New York, but some problems arise for him because he's from the Soviet Union.





	1. Chapter 1

 

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12920587/1/)

 

Life at the New York Headquarters of UNCLE Northwest was what he expected so far after his reassignment there.

Illya Kuryakin, having been stationed in both London and for a short time in West Berlin, had learned the ways of the Command under the supervision of Harry Beldon.

The man was not exactly a model of efficiency as he led a decadent and slothful lifestyle in the eyes of many, including the somewhat austere Soviet transplant.

Harry had an unknown agenda, and Illya did not like being a part of it, whatever it was. It wasn't good, still he had no proof other than his instincts and they'd always served him well.

It was a relief when Alexander Waverly, the man who'd recruited him three years earlier in Moskva, had him transferred to New York. The fact that Illya was a Communist didn't sit well with a some people in London and Berlin. Now here in New York among so many Americans, he could feel the distrust emanating from a fair few of them as well.

Mostly he tried to keep to himself and remain invisible while at headquarters, but that wasn't always possible.

There were times he would get the occasional shoulder bump as he was knocked into him while walking down the grey halls of headquarters.

Illya would be polite and shrug it off. " Sorry, my fault," he'd say, or "Beg pardon."

After it happening a number of times, he caught on that it was deliberate and wondered if this was a sort of hazing for a new arrival. He knew it meant something else at home in Russia, but wanted to think the best of his new compatriots here.

It wasn't until he heard the mumblings of things like "Stinking Commie, **Red** , and Pinko go home," that he realized those shoulder checks were anything but playful greetings. They meant the same as back in Russia after all.

The act of intentionally striking another person's shoulder with your own shoulder as you walked past them was not a friendly action. If it were a mere bump then it was a sign simple disrespect.

The more rough the shoulder check meant it was a display of open aggression.

The trouble was the shoulder bumps were indeed becoming more rough and frequent; Illya supposed it because they were not getting a rise out of him.

Still, they were letting him know he was being watched, and his presence was anything but welcome.

One morning after finishing his workout in the gymnasium on the parallel bars and rings, Illya had gone to the locker room. He showered and dressed when two large men still dressed in their suits appeared. It was obvious they were here for a different sort of workout as they blocked his way when he tried to leave.

Apparently there was a third man standing lookout at the door.

"Hey Commie, you're not welcome here."

Illya was nonplussed at that statement. He'd heard such words before.

"Did you hear me? I said you're not welcome here." One of them who stood a few inches taller than Kuryakin shoved the Russian back against the wall.

Illya sighed as he knew this was not going to end well.

"I think Mr. Waverly transferring me here says otherwise. If you are unhappy about my presence then perhaps you should go to his conference room and take up the matter with him."

"Why you smart ass little runt," he growled at Kuryakin.

Pulling back his arm signalled to Illya that it was time to duck. He managed to **evade** the punch and instead the man's fist slammed into the tile wall.

He yowled, cradling his hand.

Illya's training put him on automatic; his instincts told him to disable this attacker, and since he'd ducked down to evade the blow, he was ready to strike.

Kuryakin slammed his fist upwards into the man's groin, sending him doubled over in pain. He hit him again, this time a karate chop to the back of the neck.

The lookout came running in, joining the remaining man and together they proceeded to pin Illya back. One holding the Russian in place while the other began to beat the snot out of him.

Illya tried kneeing the attacker but his height made that problematic. He was just about to slam his foot down on the man's toes when someone came into the locker room.

"Hold it right there!" A voice bellowed.

Kuryakin was released and they all froze.

"You wait just a darn minute! I don't want to know what started this but you better knock it off. I'll let it slide today, but if I witness brawling like this again you can bet your bottom dollar you'll all go on report to Mister Waverly. Golly, you oughta be ashamed of yourselves. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

The two assailants helped their injured friend hobble from the locker room, leaving Kuryakin.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes sir Mr. Dennell, I will be fine." Illya waved him off.

"Well you have a split lip and looks like you're going to have one heck of a shiner...and call me George by the way. You been having a lot of trouble like this?" It wasn't hard for him to cop onto what had just happened here.

George Dennell came across to most as four-eyed bookworm who knew his stuff when it came to technical things, but was awkward in social situations. He was more meek than anything, though he had no trouble finding his voice at the moment.

Kuryakin was their new agent from the Soviet Union and the rumor mill whispered that his presence here wasn't appreciated by some. The three men, who were all Section III agents, numbered among those 'some.'

"You might want to go up to the medical suite and have yourself checked."

"Thank you, no. _..George._ I will be fine."

"Well okay then, suit yourself." Dennell headed over to his locker without another word.

Illya went to a sink and after examining himself in the mirror, he splashed water on his face to wash away the blood from his lip.

He had his tinted glasses in his pocket and luckily they had not been damaged. After slipping them on to hide his eye, he decided to head to the Commissary and get some ice for it. He'd think of a reasonable explanation for a black eye if someone asked.

No Medical for him as there would be reports filed. The last thing he needed were his three attackers or perhaps more coming after him for being an informant...a _donoschik._ What they called in English, a 'snitch.'

Illya walked out of the gym as if nothing had happened, though now he knew he'd have to be on guard even here in headquarters, a place he thought he could consider safe.

 


	2. Chapter 2

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12920587/2/The-Reinking-Affair)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It all happened so fast; the car in which Illya Kuryakin was driving down a side street in Manhattan was rear ended, sending him lurching forward.

It wasn't severe enough to send him through the windshield and luckily he had both hands firmly on the steering wheel, which kept his head from hitting it as it snapped forward.

Unfortunately Newton's law held true, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

His head whipped backwards, sending a sharp pain down his neck.

As Illya grimaced, he failed to see a figure approaching his driver side door.

When he did notice the man his first thought was not to exchange insurance information; his instincts told him to get his gun from its holster.

It was too late as the door opened and a fist slammed into Kuryakin's face. He was snatched from the car and pulled out to the street.

His head was reeling as all he could feel was the excruciating pain in his neck and now most likely a broken nose.

Though he tried to swing with his fists he was completely off in hitting his target. His eyes blurred and he was seeing double. He felt for his gun, but it was gone.

There was a second man, and now the two of them shoved Kuryakin against his car. They were all wearing what looked like rubber Halloween masks resembling President Kennedy.

"If you wanted insurance details you could have just asked," Illya mumbled, ever the smart ass.

"Get him in the boot or do him."

"No, I say take the Russkie for a ride and dump him somewhere in Jersey. It'll be a long walk back to headquarters to get the message he's not welcome here.'

Will you watch your mouth? No, I say do him! The other said. A third man appeared from their car and they encircled the dazed Russian.

They spun him around up against his car with his back to them when Illya felt a harder, more aggressive shove.

"Poke him, poke him!"

Illya didn't feel anything other than the pain in his neck and nose and had no idea he'd just been stabbed in his lower back.

"You idiot!" The one who wanted to drop him off in New Jersey snarled. "Why'd you have to do that?"

They left him as he slipped down to the sidewalk and sped off in their car.

Illya reached into his jacket pocket, feeling for his communicator. He grabbed hold of the cigarette case communicator and managed to open it with trembling hands.

Turning the dial to the right frequency, he spoke into the tiny microphone, "Open channel K- Emergency. Agent down, agent dow…"

He passed out.

When Illya awoke he was in a bed in the Medical Suite at headquarters.

"Hello young man," a nurse greeted him. I have to say you had a guardian angel watching over you yesterday. You lost nearly six pints of blood. The doctors thought you had a perforated liver and had one of your major arteries nicked, but miraculously you didn't. You were stabbed twice in the same spot but the knife blade didn't hit your spinal cord or arteries. It all came down to angles and millimetres so you were one lucky guy."

He was about to say he didn't believe in guardian angels or luck for that matter, when he reached up to his neck, feeling something wrapped around it.

"Oh and you have a slight case of whiplash as well as a broken nose. So leave that collar alone please."

She held up a hand mirror for him to see.

"Looks like you've got a couple of black eyes too."

He said nothing, and though he looked quite annoyed she continued preparing to perform her duties. She'd heard about this one being a bit volatile, but Nurse Nancy Collins had been with the UNCLE for a few years now and nothing, when it came to these agent's behavior, surprised her.

She was about to check the patient's blood pressure when John Reinking, the head of Section V Security, entered the room.

"The doctor cleared me to speak to him." He knew that she was aware of who he was, though it was rare that he appeared in Medical.

"Now if you'll excuse us Nurse, this conversation is classified."

She looked at Illya and back to Reinking. She didn't like leaving a patient before checking him over and she planned to go see the doctor about it.

The Section Chief closed the door and pulled over one of those molded plastic chairs, this one happened to be orange, and placed it next to Kuryakin's bed.

"How you feeling Illya?"

He gave the man a sneer.

John didn't react to it as he was well aware that the Russian could be a bit testy even without saying a word.

"So what happened to you?"

"Car rear ended, stabbed."

Reinking also knew their new Soviet transplant could be a man of few words as well. He was already aware Illya had been in a car accident and stabbed, but he needed details.

"This is not an interrogation. How many were there? Did you know them?'

"Three. Never saw their faces. Wearing rubber masks... looked like JFK. One said to toss me in the boot of their car. Boot is a term used in the United Kingdom, though all of them had American accents."

Illya closed his eyes with a sigh. He was tiring already and he found that annoying. He did not like being confined to a hospital bed and the old memories came flooding back.

The torture he was put through in the hospital ward of the concentration camp outside Kyiv during the dirty wards he was confined to as a child when he was rescued from near starvation after escaping the camp. Then later on there were the beatings he took in the orphanage, those put him in hospital as well.

He remembered the filthy mattress on his bed; the metal frame and headboards had once been painted white, but the paint was chipped away, and the exposed metal rusted.

Then as an adult...GRU tests, more hospital beds, pain, torture, drugs; all done to condition him to be ready for his life as a spy for his country.

Reinking let Illya stare out for a few minutes as he was clearly lost in thought. Finally Kuryakin quietly spoke again.

"They argued about killing me, but one said and I quote, 'take the Russkie for a ride and dump him somewhere in Jersey. It will be a long walk back to headquarters for him to think about not being welcome here."

"Hmm, that sounds like someone who knows you"

Illya grunted his agreement.

"You didn't recognize the voices?"

"They were muffled by the masks, so not exactly. There was something familiar for a brief moment but the pain from the accident was distracting me. It all happened very quickly. Do you mind Mr. Reinking I am growing fatigued. Might we finish later?"

"Oh I think I've heard enough, and please call me John? I'm going to investigate this, you can count on it."

"Do as you wish." Illya closed his eyes.

Reinking waited, watching Kuryakin as he quickly fell asleep. He left the Medical Suite, heading back to his office in Security.

Kuryakin hadn't been here very long, and of course he'd heard the rumors about him being rude, standoffish as well as a bit of a know-it-all. As far as Reinking knew, the Russian kept to himself and didn't fraternize with anyone.

It was obvious the three who'd done this to Kuryakin had taken a dislike to him because he was a Soviet and a communist. Clearly they worked for UNCLE too, they gave that away when slipped up opened the opened their mouths.

John Reinking was a handsome man, with dirty blond hair and brown eyes. His grandparents haled from Bavaria in Germany, and he had that fair skin just like his ancestors. He had a strong square chin, and a nose that was just the right size for the shape of his face.

The women at headquarters all sighed when he walked past because in plain fact of the matter he was a good looking man, well built with broad shoulders and a nice tight butt.

Unlike a number of the agents stationed here in New York, he avoided any entanglements with the women at headquarters. He was the head of Security and couldn't risk involving himself with someone he'd potentially have to investigate. It was better that way.

He had a good social life outside of work, but there wasn't anyone special in his life. His job was his life right now. He'd worry about anything else once he got closer to retirement age, which wasn't for another ten years.

He could have a girlfriend as there weren't any rules against that, just no wife. Girlfriends could complicate matters though; how could he explain that he worked for a clandestine organization like the U.N.C.L.E. He couldn't, so that as they say was the end of that.

He quickly moved up through the ranks to the head of Security after working in the field for several years, that was until Alexander Waverly hand picked him for the job.

His background with the military police, and work with NIS made him an excellent candidate for the position. The one single thing that he was known for however, was the fact that he was relentless.

He had a talent for ferreting out moles and undesirables among the employees at headquarters. Even after vetting some people managed to slip through the cracks and get hired.

It was bad enough to have to worry about enemy agents infiltrating headquarters, but to have employees with bad attitudes and work ethics was something different all together. He was determined to find out who the guilty parties were; he could just imagine what Waverly had in store for them.

Those working for the Command were supposed to be apolitical, but coming from different countries and backgrounds, keeping to that lofty ideal wasn't always easily done. Some Americans didn't take well to foreigners, and vice versa. Still, there was no place for Xenophobia in UNCLE, or haters for that matter.

Reinking was sure Kuryakin had been targeted by some of those haters who worked here in headquarters.

Figuring out who they were was going to be tough; Reinking knew he had his work cut out for himself. Before he did anything he needed to first tell the Old Man.

Waverly's bushy eyebrows came together as brow knitted upon hearing Reinking's report.

"I knew there'd be people here who might not be accepting of a Soviet addition to our staff. It's one thing to have words but whoever these three are, they most certainly stepped over the line. Do what you must John to find out who they are."

The Old Man paused; his eyes filled with concern. He reached out, taking his pipe in his hand, but not lighting it. Instead he sucked on the mouthpiece as he thought for a moment.

"I'll not have my people harassed by narrow minded fools. I went to a lot of trouble to arrange for a Soviet representative to the Command. Some were against it in Section I as they said trouble would come of it. I suppose they were correct in that assumption, but if not Kuryakin then agent from another foreign country might have fallen victim to misplaced patriotism and perhaps bigotry. I will have none of that here. Bad enough I have to send my people into harm's way everyday, but to have them assaulted here by one of their own…"

Reinking could see that Waverly was now fuming. It was rare for the man even hint at such emotions.

"When I find out who they are, standard deprogramming?"

"No, not in this case. They tried to kill my Russian. Once you discover who they are, I'll determine their fate myself."

"Yes sir." John nodded; he didn't wait for Waverly to dismiss him as he already had his orders and left the conference room without another word needing to be said.

 


	3. Chapter 3

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12920587/3/The-Reinking-Affair)

 

 

 

 

Kuryakin had been tasked with testing out a new tracking system that had been installed in the car he was driving, but apparently he never got the chance to engage it.

Reinking took an elevator down to the underground garage; there he met with the head of the transportation division, Sal Minelli, and was directed to the head mechanic who took care of all the cars.

Ernie Mack was a talented grease monkey who not only maintained UNCLE vehicles, but he and his staff kept track of them as well.

"Hi Ernie,"Reinking called to him."Can I have a minute of your time?" He held out his hand in greeting but Ernie held up his grease covered hands instead.

"What can I do you for Chief? We don't see the head of Security down here too often."

"I need to see the car that Agent Kuryakin drove recently"

"Oh sure, that was the...Studebaker Lark." He led the Security Chief to it, pointing out the damage to rear bumper and fender.

"Not a lot of work to fix this one up for once. Usually I have to repair bullet holes, smashed windshields, hoods and doors, not to mention tires, hubcaps, axles…"

"Hmm, unh-hum. The tracking system intact? No sign of tampering?" Reinking asked.

"Everything's fine with it. I was just about to move it to another test vehicle."

Reinking half listened as he walked around the dark tan car while carefully examining it. He spotted a reddish streak on the rear dented fender above the bumper; at first he thought it was Illya's blood.

Taking out a pocket knife, he tried scraping it; it didn't come off. It wasn't blood, it was red paint. Perhaps his first clue.

Kuryakin couldn't recall the vehicle that hit his car which was something unusual for an agent, as most took in details of their surroundings even while under duress.

Then again he said everything happened so fast, and he was hurt; he was paying attention to his assailants and not their car.

"Ernie, do we have any red cars here?"

"Red? Let me think; not a popular color when an agent is driving around trying not to be noticed. We did get a British number in recently, one of those MGB sports cars. Hot little ride and fast. Hasn't even been used yet."

"Where is it?"

Ernie looked on a chart indicating which model cars and vans were located in what numbered parking spaces.

"Here it is, number 47. That's way in the back.

Most vehicles in the rear of the garage had canvas tarps draped over them as they weren't frequently used or were new. The covers kept them clean and made less work for Ernie and his crew when it came time to preparing them to taken out on the road. Sometimes an agent was in a hurry so there'd be no time to wash and prep the vehicle. Often an agent would frequently prefer a specific car so the ones used often would also be cleaned and covered immediately upon return. Such cars were usually parked on the front spaces.

Together they went looking for the sports car but when they got to space 47 they found it empty.

"Was it signed out Ernie?"

"No sir. Says it should be here."He pointed to the chart again. "This isn't good."

"No Ernie it isn't. I'll need a list of who was working in the motorpool yesterday. Have it sent to my office please. And try to locate the missing car."

"Will do boss. Something going on?"

"Sorry Ernie, it's classified."

"Gotcha." The man gave a two fingered salute. Ernie pulled a rag from his coverall pockets and wiped the grease from his fingers.

Reinking went back to the Security office, the back wall of which was filled with small television screens connected to cameras set up throughout headquarters. Each security camera could monitor several angles and would switch, automatically, changing from one view to another.

Strategic areas were always recorded; the entrance at Del Floria's, the agent reception area, the rear loading dock entrance, the roof, Waverly's conference room, the agent's conference room, the bullpen, the labs, armory, Medical Suite, File 40, Interrogation, Communications as well as all the corridors, the gymnasium, firing range, the offices above the Masque Club, the club itself and of course the underground garage. There was talk about expanding the system further, but that meant a major upgrade.

That wasn't John's concern at the moment.

Sitting down at at his computer terminal, and typing in his passcode, he began pulling up the images recorded in the motor pool for the last twenty-four hours. There was only one stationary camera focused on the entrance/exit.

It was going to take time to go through the images and he enlisted the help of his number two man, Tommy Lopaka.

The big Hawaiian had a good eye as well as instincts when it came to these sort of things. John knew that one day he'd make an excellent Security Section Chief He quickly brought Tommy up to snuff regarding what was going on.

It took hours to view the recordings and at least a dozen cars left the motor pool yesterday before they finally saw the MGB being driven out of the garage, It pulled out right after Kuryakin had left in the Studebaker and turned in the same direction.

Unfortunately the face of the driver wasn't visible. He made sure of that as he obviously knew where the security camera was located. Oddly, no one seemed to be around to clear the car to leave.

The list from Ernie Mack arrived, and there were three people on duty that day in the garage. Could one or all of them have allowed that MGB to be driven away without it being signed out?

They were Bud Clinton, Marty Pullman and Victor Martinez.

Each of them had been with UNCLE for several years and were fully vetted. It seemed unlikely they could have been complicit but like the others, they'd have to eventually be questioned.

There had to be a reason why that MGB made it out of the garage without anyone knowing about it.

"Want me to bring them in?" Tommy asked.

"No not just yet."

"Okay boss. Hey was Ernie working too?

"Good question. He didn't include his name on the list but that could be a dodge if he's involved." Reinking hated to think Ernie Mack could have deceived him about knowing what happened with the car.

Tommy wondered what was going through Reinking's head, but wasn't about to ask him. The man didn't look happy.

"I'll pull up a list of everyone signed out of the building in the last twenty-four hours," said Lopaka.

The printout was up in minutes, and as Tommy looked at it he saw a number of names that stood out to him. Nothing specific came to mind other than these people were always a bit edgy. They were mostly support personnel and took their jobs very seriously. The tended to keep to themselves...just like Kuryakin.

The list of people signed out of headquarters and their times out and in from headquarters was a long one. Some were secretaries, doctors, nurses, communications people and there were at least a dozen Section III agents in addition to the Section II field agents.

The secretaries were immediately eliminated along with the nurses as well as any other female personnel.

I also need to know which agents were on assignment, their destinations as well as their mode of transportation." Reinking said.

"Only the big boss man knows the assignments brudda."

"True, but there's no need to go to Waverly. We can get the information through his assistant Miss Kingston," John winked." I'll call now to get the clearance for her to give it to you.

"Okay boss," Tommy disappeared as soon as the pneumatic doors opened for him.

After checking her makeup using the mirror in her compact, and patting her bouffant do to make sure it wasn't a muss, Tammy Kingston began filing her fingernails. She'd just gotten a snag in her stocking after adjusting it. That meant she'd have to head out to Woolworth's to buy a new pair on her lunch break as she just knew it was going to run; it wouldn't do for Mr. Waverly's assistant not to be properly attired.

She was a little more modest in her style of dress when compared to most of the women in headquarters who wore the standard uniform consisting of dark pencil skirts and form fitting blouses of either pale yellow or blue; she felt adding a jacket was more apropos in the workplace and made the uniform look more professional while still stylish.

The way the standard women's uniforms fit here at headquarters made the women here look more like a bit of eye candy and nothing more, even though they were bright, intelligent, hard working and well trained employees of UNCLE.

There were a few who wore those dreadful mini skirts that were all the rage now, along with knee high gogo boots made of pleather.

Some sported matching vinyl caps that were the same as their footwear, usually in white or sometimes a garish canary yellow. It was all part of that look that was being imported from England. Something called Carnaby Street, or so she'd heard.

She adjusted the sterling silver flower brooch on her lapel; it was a gift from the boss to show his appreciation for her excellent work. She was always on time and tried to anticipate things before he asked for them. The other gift he'd given her, well maybe it wasn't a gift, was a small book on how to make a proper cup of tea.

That was something she still hadn't mastered as she wasn't a tea drinker herself or coffee either.

Her telephone rang and she immediately answered it.

"Mr. Waverly's office. Miss Kingston speaking."

"Hello Diane, it's John Reinking from Security. I'm sending up Tom Lopaka to see you. I want you to give him a list of which agents sent out on assignment yesterday, where they were sent as well as their anticipated return dates, and their modes of transportation." 

"Oh, that's classified information."

"I know. I do have the clearance level to see it given I am the head of Security. It's for an investigation that Mr. Waverly is already aware of. If you need to speak to him I can hold."

"That won't be necessary."

"I'll hold, that's all right. You'll see Mr. Lopaka gets the information immediately?"

"As soon as Mr. Waverly releases it."

She did just that and asked her boss; he gave her permission without hesitation and returned immediately to the file he was reading. He did ask her for a cup of tea, and that put her stomach in knots.

"Yes sir."

Waverly could hear the trepidation in her voice.

"It's all right young lady, you'll get the hang of it. I haven't had an assistant who hasn't gotten it eventually." He actually winked at her.

"Thank you sir." She hurried back to her desk and picked up the telephone receiver.

"Okay John, you're all set."

"Diane, how about dinner...you and me on Sunday. What about Delmonico's?"

"Ewwww, tempting John but I have to say no. Thank you though."

Reinking finally hung up with a smile. He knew she'd turn him down, but he had to ask as a gesture of appreciation.

Miss Kingston went to the secure file room located behind her desk and keying in her passcode, the door opened, giving her acces.

She pulled the information from a file cabinet and quickly made copies of it. She placed them inside a manila envelope with instructions that the list was to be returned to her by end of day. When it was returned it would be shredded of course. That was classified information that just couldn't be left sitting around.

After locking the file room she returned to her desk and had just seated herself when Agent Lopaka appeared in front of her.

"Good morning Miss Kingston. You have something for me?"

Holding out the sealed envelope, she made note that it was marked classified.

"No one is to see this but Mr. Reinking, understood?"

"Yes ma'am. _Mahalo._ "

"What does that mean?" The blonde asked.

"It's thank you in Hawaiian, I'm from Hawaii."

"Wow, I'd love to go there someday. Is it as beautiful as they say?"

"Even more," Tommy smiled at her.

Lopaka quickly returned to the Security office with the envelope.

"I was told it was for your eyes only boss."

John shook his head. "Well that's going to make it a little hard for you to help me put together the pieces of this puzzle? On my say so, you can look at it."

"You sure boss? Don't want to go against the big man on this."

John smiled. "And his instructions to me were to do whatever it takes to solve this case."

The two men sat down together cross checking the list of agents who left on assignment to those who signed out of headquarters yesterday prior to the attack on Kuryakin.

After going over the names, they both decided it was like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack.

It took longer than they thought and rather than breaking for lunch they ordered food brought up from the Commissary.

"I don't know boss. Other than the Section II's that leaves a lot…of haoles. So many Section III's, makes it a tough call boss. Interview time?"

"Yes, but not all of them were on runs. There's at least six men who left the building and didn't return for an extended period of time, well longer than a lunch break.

John looked up at the screen for the camera just outside the Security office and what he saw was completely unexpected.

"What the hell?"

 


	4. Chapter 4

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12920587/4/The-Reinking-Affair)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John cleared the door to open and in walked Kuryakin pushing a cart from the cafeteria. He was fully dressed in his suit and a black turtleneck. He wore no neck brace and no longer had black eyes.

"What are you doing out of Medical?" Reinking demanded

"I convinced Doctor Lyman that I could be released on my own recognisance. Light duty though." Illya removed his tinted glasses."I am nicely stitched up, received a transfusion and am feeling quite revitalized.

"Yeah it better be considering how many stitches you have in your back, and what happened to the neck brace?"

"It was...distracting."

"Now here's the head scratcher for me, what happened to your black eyes?"

"Make up, and my glasses mask them as well. Now may I ask what is happening with your investigation?"

"No you may not. It's classified."

Illya was slightly taken aback by that. "Surely you will need my involvement?"

"Not unless you can identify your attackers, so can you?"

"Not completely."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I may not have seen their faces and their voices were not clear but I have since remembered seeing a hand with a sizeable scratch on the back of it; a left hand to be precise."

Reinking's brows raised ever so slightly."Okay, you have my attention. What made you remember this now and not when I spoke to you earlier in medical?"

"I had been given medication for the pain and was somewhat groggy."

"And now?"

"No pain medication. I tossed the prescription they gave me in the dustbin."

"Like any good field agent would," Reinking laughed. He remembered those days when he was in the field and would do that himself. No agent worth his mettle wanted to be off his game while on pain meds. They slowed you down and besides, pain reminded you that you were still alive.

Light duty wasn't always an option and an agent might have to head out on an assignment right after an injury...well depending on how badly he was hurt that is.

"So may I sit in on your investigation?"Illya asked again.

"No, now amscray before I get you admitted back to Medical and remember light duty only."

The Russian looked rather pouty as he pursed his lips, but said nothing to challenge the man.

"Very well. Call me when you need me then, and you _will_ need me." He disliked light duty as he saw it as nothing but busy work.

They waited until he left to say anything.

"Cocky little bastard isn't he?" John laughed. "And he must have the constitution of an ox to be up and about after being stabbed the way he was."

"That's what I've heard," Tommy snickered." He's not very popular here at least with the male employees, always keeps to himself. It's the _wahine_ who all sigh about him though.

"Tommy either teach me more Hawaiian or just tell me in English?"

He laughed. " _Na wahine_ means women. The women think he's a pretty groovy. They like how he looks with that blond hair of his."

That made Reinking chuckle. There was a time when the ladies said the same thing about him, some still did, but he guessed it was now the younger men like Kuryakin's to have their turn at being admired. Now the most popular man in UNCLE Northwest was a guy named Napoleon Solo.

His dance card, when he was around, was full just about every night. Solo was a real ladies man, and the women of UNCLE just ate him up, and he reciprocated.

Reinking shook himself of those thoughts and looked at the list of names they'd finally narrowed down.

"Let's start with the three from the motor pool."

"Interrogation?"

"No, that might spook them. Let's do the interviews in the agent's conference room. They'll be more comfortable and relaxed there. I don't want them to think they're being questioned about what happened to Kuryakin.

"That might be hard boss as word has already spread about what happened to the guilty ones will be on guard."

"That my dear Mr. Lopaka is an understatement." John clapped him on the back.

"Hey boss, you mind if we eat first. I'm pretty hungry."

"Yeah sure. I guess I am too."

Kuryakin had brought them generous helpings of beef stew along with biscuits and butter, slices of apple pie and a carafe of coffee. There was actually enough to feed three men, and maybe the Russian had assumed he'd be permitted to stay.

The food didn't go to waste as Lopaka had a pretty healthy appetite.

Illya was feeling rather proud of himself. Taking the food to Security was a ruse of course. He suspected the Section Chief would not permit him to stay, so he planted a bug underneath the arm rest on one of the chairs.

He disappeared down the hall to the bullpen to listen in on the discussions taking place.

The bullpen was a lounge of sorts where agents waited to be called for an assignment such as a courier run or dead drop. It was mostly Section III's there, as well as field agents who hadn't been assigned an office yet...he was among that number.

There was a security camera in the room so he wouldn't be able to fuss with his ear piece. Illya gave it a quick nudge, making sure his movement was out of view of the corridor camera, and pushed the listening device deeper into his ear canal so it wouldn't be visible.

He tried not to laugh when he heard himself being called a cocky little bastard as well as the comment about how the women at headquarters thought him groovy. He was well aware they were after him and some would try bribing him with little gifts, trying to get him to pay attention to them and ask them out. It seemed the women here in America, at least the ones at headquarters were a bit more promiscuous. Not that he wouldn't like to take some of them up on their offers, but his experience told him to avoid female entanglements, especially at one's place of employment.

" _They will have to do without any attention from me. I am here to do a job and not make friends or to go to bed with women."_

Still he wasn't a monk by any means, but there was a time and a place for everything. Headquarters was not an appropriate place for making dates.

He'd met a few women who caught his fancy outside of headquarters, mostly ones from the jazz clubs he'd discovered in the city.

Kuryakin preferred getting to know a girl before he went to bed with her. Not a relationship per se, but not strangers in the night either. If a woman he'd gotten to know was in the mood for sex, he would oblige her. He made sure she knew there were no strings attached and that he would come and go out of her life.

He found that being a bit more celibate made the sexual experience more pleasurable for him when it happened.

There was an agent here in New York named Solo who had quite a reputation with the women of headquarters. Apparently the man had bedded a fair few of them and like cackling hens they talked about it in the Commissary as if they were comparing notes.

He'd listen in to the gossip, and doubted the man had such an impressive sexual prowess; the women were most likely augmenting their affairs, being more braggadocious in an attempt to try and outdo each other. He just couldn't imagine Napoleon Solo being that good.

He'd never met the man as he was frequently out on assignments. Apparently he liked working alone as Illya had heard those agents who'd been partnered with him complain about his lack of teamwork. That made Illya smile as he was cut from the same cloth when it came to working with others. He didn't care about having to rely on someone else to get a job done.

Kuryakin supposed it was a bit of ego that while at Survival School he'd bested most of the records set by Solo, who was two years his senior.

He listened carefully as Lopaka read off the names of people who might be implicated…

"Bud Clinton, Marty Pullman, Victor Martinez."

Kuryakin knew them all and none of them ever had an unkind word to say to him. Martinez had even offered to take him to a baseball game to teach him about the sport.

Illya declined the invitation of course, as he made a point of not fraternizing with other employees. That was a carry over from his days as a Soviet agent.

You didn't have friends because one day you might be asked to turn spy on them, or turn them in for some sort of infraction. If you didn't then you could be arrested as well. It was a vicious little cycle that Kuryakin tried to avoid and the best way to do that was to be a loner.

Now the rest of the names on the list he found curious as he knew none of them, and was unable to put a face to each name.

"William Gregorio, David Hunt, Keith Smith, Rupert Olsen,

Peter Chan, Charles Benoit, Robert Mulgrew, Henry Kohl, Roger Frye, Sami Youcef, and Douglas

MacKenzie." .

Kuryakin mentally repeated the list of names to himself several times. Nothing, they had no meaning to him whatsoever. He wasn't happy when he heard they were moving things to the agent's conference room.

He derided himself for not planting a bug on Reinking, though in hindsight that would have been difficult.

Illya left the bullpen and headed straight to the personnel office; he needed to look at the files for each of the men who were named. He had the clearance level and could access the information he needed through one of the computer terminals there.

One by one the agents were called to the conference room, and one by one names were eliminated from the list of suspects.

Clinton had signed out for lunch and was in the Commissary, that could be easily verified through the security tapes. Marty Pullman had gone out for parts and still had the sales invoice in his coverall pocket. He'd forgotten to turn it in to Ernie. Victor Martinez was in the motor pool but had been working inside one of the surveillance vans in the back. He admitted to playing the radio and was unable to hear anything. That could be verified by the work order and the time it was complete.

All of them said Ernie Mack was somewhere in the garage…

Reinking cocked an eyebrow to that as he looked over to Tommy.

The next two interviewees were Mulgrew and Jackson; both were on courier runs after all and returned in a timely manner.

Reinking and Lopaka took a break, and sitting over a cup of coffee in the agent's conference room they discussed their findings so far.

"Peter Chan is from Hong Kong, Charles is from Quebec, Kohl is from Germany, Youcef is Albanian, Frye is British and MacKenzie is from Scotland," Reinking went through the names. "They're all foreign born and the idea of them being Xenophobic just doesn't fit does it?"

"And none of them were late getting back to headquarters. They seemed like pretty decent guys and good attitudes too," Lopaka said. He took a sip of coffee.

"Damn, I miss my Kona coffee. So now we have Gregorio, Hunt, Smith and now maybe Ernie Mack. You haven't forgotten about him."

"No I haven't, but I just have my doubts any of them could involved. They've been exemplary employees all the years they've been with the organization. Never caused any problems, and they're well liked."

"So bring in the next one boss?"

Reinking nodded his head.

Lopaka picked up the receiver of the black house phone on the wall by the doors.

"This is Agent Lopaka of Security, please page Agent William Gregorio to come to the agent's conference room."

The name was announced on the public address system by Miss Kingston.

Three minutes later the pneumatic doors opened and Gregorio stepped into the room.

"I was paged to come here sir," he said.

Reinking smiled at him."Yes please Mr. Gregorio if you would have a seat. You are aware that we are from the Security Section."

Gregorio looked younger than his age; his records indicated he was twenty-three. He was fresh faced and he straightened his tie as he seated himself at the conference table.

"Yes sir I know who you are. Is there a problem?"

"Problem? No, I just have a question for you. Yesterday you signed out of headquarters at 13:00 presumably for your lunch hour but you did not return until 15:45. I'll be blunt Mr. Gregorio, where did you go on UNCLE's time?"

The young man's face blanched. "I'm sorry sir... I went to see my girlfriend over in Brooklyn. We sort of lost track of time if you know what I mean?"

"Oh so in other words you had got laid,"Tommy said.

"Yes sir." He was visibly embarrassed.

"What's her name and address?" Reinking asked. "We'll need to verify your story. Does she know you work for UNCLE?"

"Her name is Gina Morelli and she lives at 973 Grotto Ave. Brooklyn. She thinks I work for the Daily News. Mr. Reinking sir, am I in trouble?"

John paced back and forth in front of Gregorio, his arms crossed in front of himself.

"No you're not in trouble. I can understand what it means to have a pretty girlfriend, but next time you want to have a little rendezvous with her it had better be on your time and not the organization's...got it. Anymore infractions like this and I'll bring it to the attention of Mr. Waverly."

"Yes sir. It won't happen again I promise."

"All right then, you're dismissed Gregorio."

The agent scurried out of the room like a frightened mouse.

"Scared him good boss,"Lopaka laughed. "He doesn't seem like the type to...well you know, knife Kuryakin."

"No he doesn't. Okay who's up next up?"

"That would be David Hunt."

Just as before Lopaka picked up the phone and requested the agent be paged.

"I'm sorry Mr. Lopaka," Kingston said. "David Hunt is in medical. He was injured about forty five minutes ago."

"What kind of injury?"

"Blow to the head. He's unconscious."

 


	5. Chapter 5

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12920587/5/The-Reinking-Affair)

 

During all the interviews Reinking discreetly looked at the hands of each man, checking for the cut Kuryakin had described, but none of them had such an injury, or a bandaged hand for that matter. So far none of the men displayed any negative or xenophobic tendencies toward any foreigner working in the comman.

That however could be subterfuge on the part of any of them. It was going to be tough ferreting out the guilty parties unless one of them cracked.

Reinking knew that people were aware something was going on, especially since Kuryakin and now Hunt had been attacked. Question was, were these incidents related?

Although there'd be no interview, he decided to head up to the Medical suite and check on David Hunt.

At first Nurse Collins refused him entry to the patient's room, arguing that the man was unconscious.

She was a stubborn one all right, then again having to deal with agents who fought against being laid up in a hospital bed, she had to be tough.

"Nurse Collins... _Nancy,_ I am investigating a situation on Mr. Waverly's orders. Now if you have a problem with me doing my job, then we can place a call to him in his conference room. I'm sure he'll be pleased to be interrupted," he stopped, looking at his wristwatch," while speaking to the President of the United Nations."

"First Kuryakin, now this one. Something's going on here and…"

"You know better than to even think about asking. I'm sorry, it's classified. Now will you please move out of the way? I promise I won't do anything to the patient or any of the equipment." He gave her a sincere, almost puppy dog look with his eyes. John could still turn things like that off and on with ease.

Nurse Collins huffed, and stepped away from the door.

"Three minutes, that's it then out. You may be the head of Security but I'm head nurse and this is my territory." The woman stood there with her arms crossed in front of herself, looking quite formidable.

Reinking smiled. This one was pretty feisty, not to mention good looking. Maybe after this investigation was over he'd ask her out for dinner. He liked women with spunk.

"I'll only need a minute," he nodded. He walked into the room, and was surprised at what he saw.

The patient had IV lines in his arm and he was on a ventilator, a machine helping him to breathe.

John picked up the medical chart; Agent Hunt wasn't just unconscious, he was in a coma. It indicated a severe skull fracture. They'd performed emergency surgery but the prognosis wasn't good.

In the background were the steady beeps from a heart monitor.

" **Beep...beep...beep...beep."**

It was a sound that any man who'd been in the field didn't like to hear, and it brought back memories of John's first partner, a man named Arnie Whitaker.

Their last assignment together had gone bad, and they were on taking heavy gunfire. A gunman appeared out of nowhere, aiming at Reinking and Whitaker dove in front of him, shooting the gunman, but taking a bullet that was meant for his partner.

The man lingered for days before he finally died. Reinking never forgot what his partner had done for him. In a way he carried the guilt of it knowing he should have died and not Arnie.

John came back to reality, and observed Hunt's head was heavily wrapped. The dressing had a faint blood stain seeping through the linen bandages.

He shook his head, and was concerned about not being promptly notified about another agent being attacked, especially not far from headquarters. Hunt was an American, but could the attack be tied in with Kuryakin's? Did they have the beginnings of a serial stalker on their hands?

Reinking did what he needed do at the moment and that was to see if there was a scratch on the back of Hunt's left hand. He did have to lift the patient's arm from beneath the sheet, and there it was as plain as day, a long day's old gash on the back of the left hand. John tucked the arm back under the sheet and without saying another word to Nurse Collins he left.

Upon returning to his office Lopaka immediately handed him the report on David Hunt.

"I suppose better late than never," he grumbled.

Hunt was found on the street corner at the end of the block, near the entrance to above ground parking garage.

The entrance to the secure UNCLE garage was located beneath it.

His personal effects, wallet, UNCLE ID as well as his gun were all missing and it was assumed Hunt was the victim of a robbery. Immediately upon being notified of the injured agent, a medical team arrived and brought him up to the medical suite and he was prepared for emergency surgery.

At the bottom of the page it was indicated that Hunt was discovered by a parking attendant named George Jackson, who was also an employee of UNCLE. He covered the above ground parking garage and it was there employees parked their personal vehicles. It wasn't open the the general public.

"Looks like things have just become more complicated, John said to Lopaka.

"What do you mean boss?"

"Just a second, I need to speak to Mr. Waverly.

He picked up the microphone laying on his desk and flicked a switch on his console.

"Yes John," the Old Man cleared his throat." What have you to report?"

"You're aware that an agent was attacked outside our parking garage sir?"

"Yes, I received notification from Doctor Lyman."

"About that, apparently my office wasn't notified until well after the fact, but at the moment that's neither here nor there. My concern is that we may have a serial attacker on our hands. My investigation has been focusing on anyone who might have anti-Soviet issues, but now with Agent Hunt being attacked as well...wait one second sir." John snapped his fingers. "It may not be a serial attacker after all and still related to the attack on Kuryakin."

"How so?"

"Mr. Kuryakin, who was released rather quickly from Medical by the way…"

"I'm aware of that, but that's a discussion for another time I'm afraid,"Waverly said.

"Well Mr. Kuryakin stopped by to tell me something he'd remembered from his attack, and that was that one of the three men had a long gash on the back of his left hand.

Checking on Hunt revealed that he indeed had a such a wound."

"So what are you saying John?"

"That perhaps this attack was perpetrated by one of the other men who went after Kuryakin. I've been told that word has spread that Security is speaking to people who signed out of headquarters yesterday. Perhaps Hunt was getting nervous and was ready to confess. One of the three original attackers seemed reluctant to hurt Kuryakin and just wanted to take him to New Jersey for a long walk home. That was when one of them disagreed and stabbed our Russian."

"A logical conclusion John. Do you have anymore people to question?"

"Yes, there's a few more….all Section III agents, as well as Ernie Mack."

"Good gracious, Ernie? He's an excellent employee, never a complaint about him."

"It seems a vehicle, precisely a new model red MGB has gone missing from the garage. Security tapes show it being driven out, though I couldn't see the face of the driver. The car left the garage with no apparent authorization, and left immediately after Kuryakin did, driving off in the same direction. Upon examining the Studebaker that he was driving, I discovered red paint on the damaged fender. The only car in our inventory with red paint is…"

"The missing MGB," Waverly finished for him. "Now what of Mr. Mack?"

Reinking sighed. "It seems that when providing the names of those working in the motor pool at the time the car went missing, he neglected to include his name on the list."

"Hmmm."

John could just picture Waverly puffing away on his pipe and the smoke circling around his head.

"In the meantime, just to be on the safe side Please make an announcement regarding the two attacks as it wouldn't hurt to remind our people to be a little more cautious in the outside world. Could it also be possible that is is someone with a grudge against UNCLE? Have any dismissed employees missed being deprogrammed?"

"None sir. We've been meticulous about deprogramming. The last person dismissed and deprogrammed was over a year ago."

"Very well John, keep me informed. Out."

Reinking flicked another switch on his console.

" _Attention, may I have your attention please. This is John Reinking, head of Security. On separate occasions, tow employees were recently attacked in the outside world, and one of them remains in serious condition. It is possible there's someone who has a grudge against our organization; we are investigating that possibility. In the meantime Mr. Waverly has asked that all employees remain on alert when you do leave the building, just to be on the safe side."_

"So we changing up the investigation," Lopaka asked.

"No, we're still looking for Kuryakin's attackers among our people. Hunt had that cut on his hand that Illya described and I suspect one of his buddies bashed him in the head to keep him quiet. Remember Illya said one of them didn't want to hurt him."

"So you think it was Hunt who said that boss?"

"Absolutely. So who's next on our interview list?"

"Have you looked at the time?"

Reinking had lost track of time. It was nearly seven o'clock, with the exception of light support staff, most of the agents would have left for the night.

"You're right. Time to go home, and least you can go Tommy. I'm going to stay here for a bit an mull things over.

The night shift for Security had already arrived and sat in front of the monitors to what what was going on throughout headquarters. It was pretty dull as all the hustle and bustle had slowed to a crawl, or nothing at all.

Reinking sat in his office, pulling up the security tapes for the camera at the end of the block. He was hoping whoever attacked Hunt had been caught on camera.

He watched as Hunt came into view, pacing back and forth in front of the garage entrance. Checking his watch several times as he paced; he looked as if he were waiting for someone.

A figure appeared, standing with his back to the camera. He was dressed in dark clothing, and a knit cap covered his head. His hands were moving as he spoke, pointing a finger at Hunt, almost accusingly. Hunt shook his head, raising his hands and that's when it happened. He saw the time indicated on the tape as 4:15 pm.

Reinking watched as a clawhammer was bashed several times into Hunt's head. He collapsed to the sidewalk and the man in dark clothes disappeared out of view.

John opened his door, speaking to one of his men.

"Get me a list of anyone who left the building between 4:00 and 4:15 pm today.

"On it sir," the agent went to the terminal, looked up the information.

"Sir, there's only one person who left within that window. It was Mister Kuryakin. He signed out at 16:10 and returned at 16:30. He then signed out for the evening at 17:00 sir."

Reinking returned to his office, not saying a word until he was alone.

"Dammit! "He cursed, slamming his fist on the top of his metal desk. Cradling his fist in his other hand, he rubbed it as it now hurt.

"How could I not see this coming?" He chastised himself.

Was he getting slow on the uptick? He used to see things from every possible angle; why didn't he see this coming?

 


	6. Chapter 6

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12920587/6/The-Reinking-Affair)

 

Reinking paced his office growling to himself.

It didn't look good with Kuryakin leaving right after Hunt and with the man being attacked, it had become more than serious. Was the Russian involved in some way, and how the hell could Kuryakin have known the names of the men they were questioning?"J ohn's instincts instantly went to the thought that there was someone with a big mouth in his section. Someone who let slip what was going on to Kuryakin.

"No, not my people," he huffed.

Sitting back down at his desk, he logged in to his computer, and looked at a list of employees who had signed into any computer terminals here at headquarters. Not everyone had access to them, and as he scrolled down the list he saw Kuryakin's identifcation and that he'd signed in to the terminal in the personnel office.

John nearly spat as he cursed again; he saw what, or precisely whose files the Russian had accessed. It was everyone on the interview list!

"Still how could he have found out?"

He snapped his fingers and stepping out from his office again, Reinking addressed his staff.

"Stop what you're doing." He held up a piece of paper on which he'd written the words in bold black letters.

" _ **Check the office for bugs."**_

The agents scrambled, grabbing a couple of scanners and they went over everything with a fine tooth comb. As one of the hand held devices was passed over arm of an office chair it buzzed to life with a red light turning blinking along with that obvious buzz that it had detected a hot signal.

The agent got down on his knees, looking beneath the chair and found the bug stuck under the arm rest.

"Son of a bitch," Reinking cursed, holding the disk in the palm of his hand. He took it into his office and place it into a small lined box to cut off the signal.

Kuryakin must have planted it when he brought in the food from the Commissary.

Now the question begged to be asked, should he call the Russian in to interrogate him now or wait until tomorrow?

His private telephone rang interrupting his thoughts and he finally picked it up.

"Security, Reinking."

"This is Doctor Lyman. I'm sorry to report that Agent Hunt has died."

There was a brief pause. "Thank you doctor. I'll prepare the notification to his family, as well as the cover story that he was mugged. Have you notified Mr. Waverly?

"Yes I have. Sorry John, I wish it could have been better news. Good night."

He hung up the receiver. Reinking decided it was time to bring Kuryakin in after all. He called upstairs, asking that the Russian be contacted to return to headquarters. Since he was on light duty, this time of day the Security Chief assumed he'd signed out for the night and gone home.

.

Illya answered his communicator and quickly responded.

"On my way." There was no need to ask questions as he would be briefed when he arrived at headquarters.

He took a taxi as it would be more expeditious than walking, plus his wound was far from healed and it would be a bit problematic quickly walking that long a distance.

Though he often walked to work from his apartment this time it was a little painful to do so.

Still he refused to take painkillers as they dulled the senses and he needed to keep his wits about him in case there was another incident. Since they, whoever they were, didn't kill him the first time, they might try again.

After paying the driver he stepped from the taxi as it parked across the street opposite Del Floria's; looking right left and across the street, he made sure everything was safe to cross. Heading down the steps he opened the door, and listened to the familiar sound of the brass bell ringing its warning.

Though to him it was more of a welcoming sound; this was his new home in America. His apartment wasn't home, that was just a place to sleep and store his belongings.

Headquarters was his real world, a place from which he was sent out to wrestle with the forces of evil to help maintain peace in the world. It was a lofty ideal, but one for which he felt a bit unworthy. Still he would do his best for the Command.

He nodded to the agent on duty playing the role of Del man hit the steam press twice as Kuryakin headed directly into the dressing room.

Turning the coat hook, the heavy door opened slowly and he stepped into reception. It always reminded him of Alice in Wonderland, it was like stepping into another world...although there was no Cheshire cat waiting for him in reception.

He was immediately greeted by two burly Security agents one of whom was aiming his gun at him.

"Mr. Kuryakin, I need you to surrender your weapon, and empty your pockets. You also need to remove your shoes please?"

"What is this all about?"

"You'll find out soon enough,"the other agent said. "If you don't comply, then you will be darted."

"Fine." Illya held open his suit jacket with one hand while he reached for his gun, slipping it from the black leather holster while gripping it with only two fingers.

He placed it in a tray on the reception desk, and proceeded to empty his pockets, leaving his communicator, wallet, money clip there as well as his wristwatch. He reached to the back of his jacket and withdrew his throwing knife.

Slipping off his shoes, he shoved them aside on the floor with his foot. He thought nothing of the fact that there was a hole in one of his black socks leaving his big toe sticking out, but mentally reminded himself to get it darned. One of the secretaries might do it for him.

"That it Mr. Kuryakin?"

"I believe so."

One of the agents took his shoes, and turning the heels, hollowed out compartments were revealed. Inside them were explosive putty and fuses.

"You can have the shoes back now."

" _I am so pleased_ ," Illya's voice dripped with sarcasm.

He looked to the receptionist who was on duty, and held out his hand for his ID badge. She handed it to him, though her reddened face indicated she was embarrassed. He didn't even know her name and wondered why she would feel that way.

"Sorry," she whispered.

He shrugged as he pinned on his badge.

"Okay, will you please come with us sir?" One of the Security men said.

Illya was clueless as to what this was about, and had no choice but to do as they asked. He knew he'd done nothing wrong…well actually he had. Bugging the Security Office was a rather questionable thing, and perhaps they were going to call him on it. Still no harm no foul, it was just a little bug and after all he was a spy. So it was a normal thing for him to do.

They escorted Illya to an interrogation room, and there he was seated in one of the grey metal chairs that matched the grey metal table there as well as the walls. To some it could have been a depressing things surrounded by such drabness, but to him it was immaterial. Back home in Russian, thanks to Stalin, everything many things were drab and cold. The style of architecture was anything but welcoming, it was hulking and massive. In many instances cheaply done, so many apartments did not hold up well.

There was no need to survey his surroundings, he'd questioned prisoners here himself. Prisoner? Was he a prisoner now?

He looked over at the two way mirror and presumed someone was on the other side, ready to record whatever was said on a reel to reel tape recorder.

There was a small remote camera in the upper corner of the room that would give the security people a heads up should anything occur in the interrogation room.

Illya gave no indication that he was he was concerned, though in the pit of his stomach he was.

It was always in the back of his mind that something would go wrong merely because he was a Soviet. After all he'd just been attacked by people with anti-Soviet sentiments. Perhaps UNCLE might have come to the conclusion that having him with the organization wasn't worth the trouble his presence was apparently causing.

Still that remained to be seen.

Illya sat there, waiting...listening to the ticking of the large white-faced clock on the wall above the two way mirror.

It was a standard interrogation technique leaving a subject to sit alone. It gave more time for them to think, and the more they thought the more they worried and became nervous. Anxiety increased, making the subject more pliable when questioned.

" **Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick…"**

The blond agent made sure he did not exhibit any of those feelings to whomever entered the room.

" **Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick."**

He sighed, feeling a little bored.

Illya looked up as the door finally opened, and in walked the Chief of Security.

"So you going to explain this to me John?" His hand went up, gesturing to his surroundings. "Was this necessary?"

Reinking sat down at the table, sitting opposite the Russian.

"Where did you go after you left headquarters today a little after 4 o'clock?"

Kuryakin's eyebrows lowered, concealing those icy blue eyes of his to some degree. The look could have been conveying his annoyance but in this case such a look was one of dominance. He wasn't going to let Reinking intimidate him regardless of what he was up to.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just answer the question Illya. It shouldn't be hard."

"Tsk. I went down the block to the Polish deli and picked up something to take home for dinner and if you must know it was stuffed cabbage. I was about to sit down to eat it when I was called to come in."

John was a little surprised at that answer as he expected something more cryptic from the ever clandestine Russian.

"Anyone who can verify that?"

"The deli owner Mr. Pasternack, his son-in-law Mikolaj, his daughter Krystyna and his wife Zofia were all there. I was going to get _pierogi_ but Mrs. Pasternak recommended the _gołąbki_ as it was just fresh out of the oven. If their say so is not good enough, George Dennell came in just as I was leaving. His word should suffice to verify when I was there and when I left. I immediately returned to headquarters. I left my meal in a paper sack at the reception desk while I went to pick up my medication as I left it in my locker. It can not be taken on an empty stomach."

"I thought you tossed your pain meds?"

"I did, the medication I am referring to is an antibiotic. The doctor decided to put me on it as a preventative for infection, given I was out of his care rather quickly."

"Okay then," John hesitated. He stepped from the room, making a telephone call to Dennell's office, knowing the man was working a long shift today.

"Hi John," George answered, as always there was a tone of cheerfulness in his voice. "What can I do you for?"

"Just a verification. Kuryakin says he was at the Polish deli down the block this you see him there?"

"Golly, as a matter of fact I did. He was leaving as I was coming in. It was about 4:10 give or take a minute or so. He recommended the cabbage rolls and I gotta thank him. They were great, I just had them for…

"Thanks George that's all I needed to know."

"Is something going on? Mr. Kuryakin's okay, isn't he, I mean after his being attacked and all. I was shocked to see him out of Medical so soon, but..."

"Classified as usual, but yes Kuryakin is fine. Thanks George. Good night."

"Night John." That left Dennell scratching his head. First Kuryakin was attacked and now Agent Hunt. He wondered how the guy was doing.

Reinking returned to interrogation and flopped into the chair again across from Illya.

"So?"

"Dennell verified your story; you'll be released…"

"I hear a 'but' coming, am I correct in this assumption?" Illya cocked his head to one side, crossing his arms in front of himself.

"I discovered what you were doing Illya. You planted a bug in my office and then hearing the names of the people we were investigating, you logged into the computer in personnel and looked at their files. Including David Hunt who was attacked outside the UNCLE garage this afternoon, not long after you signed out of headquarters. He'd left out just before you did."

"And you think...thought I attacked him?" Illya's eyes finally gave away some emotion as he opened them wide in surprise.

"Well actually, murdered. Hunt died a short while ago. Just to let you know, he had a old gash on his left hand."

Kuryakin's expression changed back to his usual placid demeanor making him impossible to read.

"It seems to me that someone, presumably his cohorts who attacked me might have wanted him to keep quiet...permanently. Perhaps he was going to how you Americans say, _rat them out_?"

"I believe the attack was to make it look like a mugging, but what you just said was one of the possibilities that crossed my mind until you complicated matters. Of all the stupid moves you could have done, really Illya, bugging this office? If Dennell hadn't verified your story, you might have been indicted on the murder of a fellow agent."

"But the Pasternak family…"

John sighed. "They would not be seen as reliable witnesses since you could have paid them off to cover for you. A member of UNCLE is a more credible witness and I have to say George Dennell just saved your ass."

"I owe him then, and I do owe you an apology for bugging your office," Illya flashed a crooked smile."It is my Soviet training to think that way. I am still not completely accustomed to the ways of UNCLE. Harry Beldon was, perhaps in hindsight, not the best of mentors. That however is a story for another day."

John nodded his head as he stood. "I may regret this, but come to my office."

As they stepped outside of interrogation the guard on duty reached for his weapon.

"It's okay. Mr. Kuryakin is being released. No problems."

"Yes sir Mr. Reinking."

Kuryakin followed the Security Chief to his office and finally he was brought into the loop.

"The rest of the agents interviewed gave no indication of any negative feelings towards you or any other foreign operative for that matter. That includes Ernie Mack, though I was a bit suspicious at first when he left himself off the list of people working in the garage when...well there's a red MGB missing and no one seems to know how it disappeared. The car was recovered a few blocks away from the scene of your accident.

"Now you believe Ernie's actions were an apparent oversight. I am already aware of that. It does not mean none of them are lying. UNCLE trains their people very well when it comes to hiding the truth. I do however have a proposal that might help you find the remaining culprits."

"I'm listening."

"I suggest a set up. I suspect that whoever attacked me still wants me gone. It is obvious that I am not leaving UNCLE, so perhaps they might want to as you say... _show me the door."_

"That's awfully risky."

"John, I am a Section II operative; risk is part of my job and I have learned to live with it."

"Yeah, its the living part I'd be concerned about. I think your proposal might be..."

"Perhaps Mr. Waverly should decide. He is accustomed to sending his agents into the fray to face danger on a daily basis. I will merely be doing my job in an attempt to catch a murderer and his remaining co-conspirator."

"Mr. Kuryakin," It was the voice of Waverly. Apparently Reinking had opened a line to the Old Man and he'd been listening in at his console in his conference room while not saying a word until now.

"This is indeed an excellent suggestion to catch the culprits, as long as you are feeling up to it physically. Perhaps a day or so of rest will ensure that you are more fit. A lull in questioning and so forth might make them think they are in the clear."

"But sir," Ilya said.

"Patience young is another day as is the day after that. Mr. Reinking has things well in hand. In the meantime you two can work out the trap together."

"Yes sir Mr. Waverly," John answered."Thank you."

There was a click, telling them the Old Man had disconnected.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Kuryakin did as he was told; one thing he knew not to do and that was to question Alexander Waverly. It was a habit he'd cultivated back in the Soviet Union; to question your superior could mean a firing squad. Though he could rest easy that such a thing wouldn't happen here; The Old Man was simply too canny to try and second guess him.

Still he had a way of skirting around orders he found impossible to follow; he could always wiggle his way into the clear when asked how something went the way it did.

Sometimes his ideas weren't always the most clever or brightest. There was one occasion where his plan to help a friend and his family escape to Finland cost them their lives, though it wasn't the plan that went wrong per se, it was because of the interference of KGB. *

Though Waverly initially came across like a father figure when Kuryakin first met him that fateful day in Moskva.

He was told by his superiors that he was being farmed out to an organization called The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.

He'd heard of it and apparently Waverly was there to collect him as the Kremlin's offering.

The Soviet Union was now a member of UNCLE and in exchange for certain intelligence, they provided an agent.

Illya soon discovered Waverly was anything but fatherly.

Instead Kuryakin discovered that Waverly that he was sly, manipulative, cunning and calculating, yet at the same time there was a caring way about him.

One only had to look to see a gleam in the man's aged eyes when his agents returned from a successful mission, alive to fight another day.

Kuryakin had developed his sources around headquarters, especially in the Medical Suite; the Old Man paid frequent late night visits to check on his injured people. If they were awake, he'd talk to them and if not, he'd just pull up a chair and sit at their bedside for a while. There he let his caring side show, ever so briefly.

After some arguing back and forth with Reinking, it was decided that rather than leaving headquarters to go home again, Illya was to return to Medical, just so the staff could keep an eye on his stitches and he'd be safe from another attempt on his life. Just to be sure, a member of Security was posted at the door to his room.

Kuryakin as before, was not happy at all but the nurses quickly learned how to soothe the Russian with one thing, and that was food.

Someone took the trouble to go down the block to that Polish deli he frequented and brought back some delicious meals for him.

That kept him contented, as well as Doctor Lyman who was impressed at the way Kuryakin was healing. The man did indeed have amazing recuperative powers.

Finally on the third day Illya was allowed to leave his hospital bed and after dressing himself and thanking the staff for their care, especially Nurse Collins, he headed down to the Security Office with his protective agent in tow.

There he and Reinking put together the plan they'd both been thinking about for the past few days.

"I hope this works," John said.

"It will," Illya winked." See I told you that you would need me."

"Don't be a wiseguy, Kuryakin." John smiled at him anyway.

Reinking, Lopaka along with several other members of Security left headquarters via the garage, but staggered their vehicle departures so it looked unrelated to Kuryakin's leaving just after them.

He'd pick them up as tails along the way after they'd parked along the planned route, some in sedans, and others in UNCLE taxicabs; they'd follow the Russian at a discreet distance.

Thanks to the help of George Dennell, word spread about Kuryakin's miraculous recovery and the fact that he was back on duty. He let it be known that Illya was again heading out by himself to retest the new tracking system.

Illya signed out a dark blue Studebaker Hawk, a more sporty model this time, and drove slowly at first. Initially there was some traffic this time of day, but the route they'd planned would him take to some rundown areas in the Bronx. Guaranteed less traffic and pedestrians as well.

UNCLE transportation had gotten their hands on a few Studebakers, despite with steel in short supply at the end of the decade. The car company, not as large as some, chose to focus on building as many Larks as possible to ensure an adequate supply for the company's dealers. By the beginning of February Hawks finally began to roll out from the assembly line.

Later that year a stock production model won its class in the 1960 Mobil Economy Run, delivering 22.9 miles per gallon. That caught UNCLE Transportation's attention and they snatched up as many Hawks as they could to distribute throughout the country. Accounting was pleased with that decision...

Kuryakin took a circuitous route, heading up and down little travelled neighborhood streets. As predicted there wasn't much traffic; they wanted to avoid entanglements with any innocents who could get in the way.

Nothing happened, and he continued to drive uneventfully for another half hour. Illya pulled his cigarette case, speaking into his communicator to Reinking. He wondered if it was time to pack it in.

"Perhaps it was not a good plan after all using him as bait.

Just as he uttered those words a van came out of nowhere moving at a high speed and hit his car broadside.

Pieces of broken window glass flew, along with his communicator as he was jolted sideways. Feeling a sharp pain shoot up from his back threw his neck, he ignored it. He was oblivious to the bits of glass that had raked across his face.

For a moment Illya was stunned by the impact, but he had the wherewithal as soon as his car came to a halt, to draw his gun, open the driver side door and drop out to the street.

Though it hurt, he looked around for the attack that was no doubt coming.

" _Where was his backup?"_ There was no sign of Reinking and his men.

He peeked around the rear of the car, looking down the block and saw a traffic jam blocking the intersection.

" _Chyort!"_ He barked a curse in Russian.

_._

As soon as traffic came to a stop Reinking dove out of his car knowing there'd be no way this jam would break up anytime soon. Two taxis had collided, and the drivers were screaming at each other, shaking their fists.

Whether it was planned or a convenient accident was immaterial; he had to get to Kuryakin and fast.

Lopaka wasn't far behind his boss, and the other agents were bringing up the rear.

Leaving their vehicles unattended added to the anger and frustration of the other drivers now caught in the logjam of cars.

Horns were blaring, people were yelling but the UNCLE agents ignored it all as they dashed to find Kuryakin; each man was concerned, thinking the Russian might be dead.

Kuryakin looked up as he heard someone climbing atop the wrecked Hawk and it was Ernie Mack and he was now aiming a pistol straight at the Russian.

Illya was still laying on the ground and seeing Ernie, he immediately aimed his Special at the man. The two men were essentially in a standoff. It came down to who fired more quickly and accurately.

Reinking charged onto the scene and fired his gun, darting Mack and sending him rolling down the hood of the Studebaker to the ground.

He offered his hand to Illya, helping him to his feet.

"That was a close okay?"

"Fine...though I might need a good massage," Illya rubbed the back of his neck; it was hurting more than he wanted to admit. He felt inside his jacket to his back where he'd been stabbed, but his hand came away free of blood. That wa a relief.

"Sorry we were late," Reinking said, handing Illya his handkerchief and pointing to his face. "You have a few cuts."

Illya actually smiled at him, while carefully wiping away the blood where he'd been hit by the flying glass.

" _Potius sero quam nunquam,_ " he quipped.**

John laughed. "I didn't know you spoke Latin."

"There are a lot of things people do not know about me and I prefer to keep it that way."

Reinking was beginning to like this mysterious Russian agent. He was clever, resourceful...maybe he'd try to recruit him to Security?

Both men turned their heads slowly as they became aware of someone approaching them at a fast paced walk and he wasn't Security.

He was holding his arm straight out with a gun in his hand.

"Why won't you die you Commie bastard."

" **BANG!"** He fired the weapon.

Reinking reacted first, diving in front of Kuryakin, taking the bullet meant for him.

Illya fired his gun, hitting his target with deadly accuracy. Lopaka as he arrived fired too, hitting the man with a sleep dart as well.

It was someone who hadn't even been considered as a suspect. It was Roger Frye. Apparently he had a knack for disguising his British accent.

Tommy went straight to his boss who was now on the ground and fell to his knees. He cradled John's head as the other members of the team gathered round in a state of disbelief.

"Hey boss, talk to me please?" Tommy tried putting pressure on the bullet wound.

Reinking opened his eyes. "Did we...get them?"

"Yeah boss we, no... you did good."

A sea of black umbrellas and trench coats formed one great circle around the grave site.

The UNCLE chaplain began a prayer, sprinkling holy water on the coffin before it was lowered into the ground.

" _O God, this hour revives in us memories of our comrade_

_John Xavier Reinking who is here no more. What happiness we shared when he walked among us! What joy, when, loving and loved, we lived our lives together! His memory is a blessing forever._

_Months or years may pass, yet we will feel near to him for the heroic act he performed to save one of our own._

_Though the bitter grief will soften, a duller pain will abide, for the place where once he stood is empty now. The links of life are broken, but the link of honor and bravery will always bind us together. John's soul is bound up with ours forever. O Lord, I thank You for allowing this very special person to be in our lives."_

" _We have been truly blessed by his presence, his words as well as his actions. We grieve not for him, but for us, as we will truly miss this man with whom we shared so much. Yet our times together were fleeting."_

" _Help us O God, to realize that the distance between us now is not so great and that one day, we will be reunited again in paradise. Together, we will glorify You, Almighty Father, Your only Son, Jesus Christ, and Your Holy Spirit for all eternity. Amen."_

Everyone raised their bowed heads.

"This concludes our service. There will be a small gathering back at headquarters, where we will celebrate the life of John Reinking."

Alexander Waverly stood quietly beneath his umbrella. The rain was falling steadily, drenching the mourners at the graveside as they said their farewells.

In attendance were Section II and Section III agents and as many of the personnel who could be spared from headquarters for the funeral. It was clear that John was a well liked man. Even Jules Cutter was there.

Waverly cleared his throat before he spoke.

"John Reinking was not only a loyal friend but a man who truly believed in the precepts of our organization. I will tell you something about the man; when he was a young agent he lost his first partner...who took a bullet meant for him. He carried the guilt of it to his dying day, though he finally returned the gift of life given to him by his partner by taking a bullet meant for Agent Kuryakin. I can only hope that all of you will honor this courageous man's legacy. John had no family, we... U.N.C.L.E. were his family, let us never forget our brother in arms."

Kuryakin stood beside Mister Waverly, though he did not like being at the forefront of this. He was relieved that people had come up to him to offer their condolences, and seemed to not hold Reinking's death against him. He found that odd that he wasn't blamed.

Illya wondered if someday he might have the courage to offer his life the way Reinking did for him. Not that he wanted to die in such a heroic way. Death was always peering over the shoulder of every field agent and at least John's death was still an honorable one, as well as heroic.

As he stepped aside he noticed a well dressed, dark haired man walk up to Waverly and Cutter and shake their hands.

There seemed to be some serious conversation that caused the man to frown. He didn't look pleased at all.

The Old Man raised his voice. "Two weeks Mister Solo, and then we will discuss your new partner."

" _So that was Napoleon Solo,"_ Illya thought to himself as he disappeared among the headstones. He pulled up the collar of his black trench coat as he tilted his umbrella against the rain.

Well after the fact George Dennell reported the incident in the gymnasium locker room to Waverly with his deepest apologies. What had happened recently prompted him to finally speak up about it.

Two of the three men who accosted Kuryakin that day were David Hunt and Roger Frye. The third man was a technician name Peter Janssen.

Though the head of UNCLE Northwest was unhappy at the news, he didn't chastise George. He was a good man, intelligent and definitely learned by his mistakes.

Janssen would be dismissed and deprogrammed. His new job would be teaching English classes for newly arrived immigrants.

Ernie Mack and Roger Frye were sent to Tartarus, both given a life sentence for the murder of David Hunt, John Reinking and attempted murder of Kuryakin. ***

.

Two weeks later Napoleon Solo entered the inner sanctum that was Alexander Waverly's conference room.

Seated at the table with his hands crossed in front of himself was the Soviet Agent sent to the Command. He'd never met the man but had heard of his reputation especially in the recent incident involving the death of John Reinking.

Napoleon wasn't happy about being partnered with someone again, regardless of where the man came from. He preferred staying true to his name and working solo.

"Welcome Mister Solo. I'd like you to meet your new partner, Illya Kuryakin…"

**.**

* ref. "The Test"

** Potius sero quam nunquam: better late than never.

*** Tartarus is an UNCLE prison in Antarctica, the term has become part of Fanon, and was first coined by Gina Martin aka GM


End file.
